Where the Heart Lies
by StormySeaEyes
Summary: Leah has lived her entire life sheltered in the cozy village of District Four. Her father has taught her everything: how to fish, swim, and kill with her bare hands. But everything changes when Leah is reaped along with her best friend's brother, Finn; suddenly, her world is thrown into chaos, and Leah must learn who to trust and who to kill and if those are different things at all
1. Leah

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games trilogy or anything affiliated with the books and/or movie. This disclaimer will encompass the length of this work, including all chapters that contain recognizable characters and plot devices from the series, all of which belong to the talented Suzanne Collins_

_A/N: I've never written a Hunger Games work before, but I'm excited to try this one out. Please read and let me know what you think!_

* * *

_Chapter One_

* * *

When I was eight, my father taught me to rip off a head.

Admittedly, it was a fish. A trout caught lurking beneath some of the rocks near the cove, hardly bigger than my palm. The size of it didn't matter; the task was whether I could bring myself to do it. I remember the feel of the fish in my hands. The skin was wet and slick, but there was a coarse layer beneath, like sandpaper.

"Dad," I had said. "Do I have to?"

"Try."

"I'm not ready."

"Leah," he had told me, "nobody's ever ready to kill."

I felt the trout's heartbeat, thrumming anxiously beneath my fingers like bird wings. The sunlight lanced off the scales and threw rainbow colors around the cove, breathing life into the grey rocks.

I ripped the fish in two.

As a fisherman's daughter, I was now more than skilled in killing fish. I knew how to gut them, clean them, cook them, and chop them up with clinical precision. My mother had always shied away from violence, but my father and I were trained in the art of it.

In District Four, you had to be.

* * *

On Reaping Day, I couldn't sleep.

The morning fog blowing off the harbor curled lazily around my window. Buttery light turned the ocean to liquid gold, and if I squinted, I could see the black silhouettes of the fishing boats leaving shore. It couldn't have been much past dawn.

I pulled on tough, canvas pants and a plain blue t-shirt. My long red hair was looped up into a ponytail. My mother would make me wear it down for the Reaping, but my early waking had bought me a few hours.

My father's fishing gear was already gone from the kitchen. My mother sat in the corner, nursing a mug of tea. The liquid was stained green from the sea salts dissolved inside. She glanced up when I entered.

"You're awake already?"

"Couldn't sleep." I grabbed a chunk of the seaweed bread sitting on the corner of the counter. It was stale, but it would work. "You?"

"I couldn't sleep either." Her voice was soft, and she set down the paper. Her own red hair was in a knot on the top of her head, and grey wisps escaped from the hold. "I'm worried about you."

"Why?"

"You know why, Leah. Are you nervous?"

"Not particularly."

"You know," she said, "I can never tell when you're lying."

I offered her a small smile. "I have yet to meet someone that can."

My mother looked like she wanted to say something else, and then decided against it. She rose to her feet, placing the chipped mug in the sink. Methodically, she ran the water until her hands turned red. I started to pull on my boots.

"Where are you going?"

"Gwen's."

"Oh." I noticed that my mother was careful to keep her eyes on the mug. "I thought that maybe you and I could spend the day together. I can do your hair for the event later."

She was always very careful to call it _the event _or _the ceremony_. I hadn't heard her call it the Reaping since I was very young. I finished lacing up my boots, and studied her, my chin resting on my hands. My mother looked very fragile: all bones and sharp corners. The fabric of her shawl was loose at the wrists.

"I'll come back before the Reaping."

At the last word, my mother flinched. "Alright."

She ducked her head to kiss my cheek, and I quickly stood. I had never been one to show affection. If my mother was hurt, she didn't show it. I nodded to her, and then I was out the door, hurrying through the crisp morning air.

The village was beginning to stir. Most of the shops were closed for the day, but people moved throughout the square, toting nets and tridents. A pair of young boys chased one another down the dirt-trodden path that led to the sea. A few of my mother's friends waved from the docks.

Gwen lived in a cottage near the outskirts of the District. The roof was thatched and leaky, and a few goats were tethered outside. Two of the windowpanes were missing. I raised my hand to knock at the same time that the door was tugged open.

"Whoa!"

Finn stood on the front steps, blinking in the morning sun. His blond hair was tousled with sleep. He wore swimming trunks and a white t-shirt that looked like it had been stained yellow with seawater a few times. Upon catching sight of me, he offered a sheepish smile.

"Sorry, Leah. Didn't see you there."

I wasn't surprised. Despite being only a year older than Gwen and I, Finn had at least eight inches on me. Out of the pair of them, Finn had inherited the height. I crossed my arms over my chest.

"All the salt water has finally affected your brain."

"I'm hardly blind."

"You do a poor job of showing it."

Finn studied me for a moment. His cheeks were still flushed from sleep, but he seemed more awake now. "You're in a cheerful mood today."

"It's my sunny personality, actually."

He shrugged, maneuvering around me. The anticipation of a swim was clearly enough that my sarcasm didn't bother him. That, or Finn had grown used to me by now. I watched as he disappeared through the gate before easing my way into the cottage.

Gwen's bedroom was the second door to the left. When I entered, she was seated cross-legged on her bed. Her blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders, and she was inspecting a blue dress that matched her eyes. There were pearls woven in to the collar. I could tell by the redness of Gwen's eyes that she had been crying, but when I sat down on the bed, she smiled.

"What do you think?"

"Of what?"

"The dress." Gwen clutched it to her chest. "Mom finally realized that I had outgrown the other one when it ripped in half yesterday."

"It looks like a dress."

"You're no fun," she said, but she was grinning. Dimples appeared at the corner of her mouth, and the heart-shaped mark on her cheek bobbed up and down. "You sound particularly Irish today."

"It's because I'm angry."

"You're always angry."

"That's probably why I always sound Irish."

Gwen laughed, and I was relieved that the subject was dropped. My strange accent wasn't something I necessarily enjoyed being reminded about. My mother had the same lilt to her voice, an almost musical quality that she insisted came from our Irish relatives before Districts even existed. Whatever the reason, the accent didn't fit with my desire to keep a low profile.

"I ran into Finn," I said. "Quite literally."

"Yeah." Gwen set the dress down. "He's nervous. I mean, he never says anything about it, but I can tell. He thinks meeting his friends will take his mind off of things."

"It's his last year."

Gwen looked down at her hands. I noticed that the tips of her fingers had turned white, and she was squeezing her palms together. "It's not himself that Finn's worried about."

"Oh."

I didn't know what to say to that. In my mind, it was pointless for Finn to worry, because there was nothing that he could do for Gwen if she was reaped. Brothers couldn't volunteer for their sisters. It didn't make sense to fret over it.

Then again, I didn't really have much to compare it to; I didn't have a sibling. Not with the ability to volunteer for me, anyways. You had to be alive to do that.

I stopped my train of thought immediately.

"Have you picked out your dress yet?" Gwen asked.

"No."

"Do you want to borrow one?"

I eyed her willowy frame doubtfully. My shoulders were broader than Gwen's, and she was a few inches taller. Gwen looked pretty in pinks and oranges, both of which my mother insisted redheads should avoid. I shook my head.

"My mom has something in mind."

Gwen gave me a doubtful look that, given the circumstances, I probably deserved. "Promise me that you'll leave your hair down, at least."

"Deal."

Gwen and I ended up walking down to the bay near our favorite bait shop. Gwen had never been very good at fishing, but she occasionally came out on the boat with me if I promised that we would release any fish that we caught. I didn't see the point in torturing the fish if we weren't going to kill them, but if it made Gwen happy, I did it anyways.

"You look tired," Gwen said.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Did you have the nightmare again?"

I winced. Automatically, I glanced over my shoulder, as if my father might be right behind me, waiting to critique any admission of weakness. But there was no sound but the crunch of our footsteps. I sucked in a lungful of salt and air.

"It doesn't matter."

"Leah." Gwen's voice was hard. "Was it the same one?"

"Drop it, Gwen."

We had reached the edge of the shore. Cool water lapped at the sand, and I kicked off my shoes, letting the seawater swirl around my feet. In the distance, I could see the sleek black shape of heads bobbing above the surface: Finn and his friends.

"This is where they buried her, isn't it?" Gwen asked.

I snapped around to look at her so fast that my neck locked. Gwen was watching me carefully, and I rubbed at my neck with my freehand. I hadn't realized that she had remembered a funeral from so long ago.

"Yeah, it is."

"Does your nightmare happen here?"

"I really don't want to talk about it."

This time, Gwen nodded. The breeze had pulled her blonde hair in all directions, and she tucked it behind her ear. We both sat on the sand. The water moved up and down over my toes, and the rhythm of it was soothing.

"If I die," Gwen said, "you can have my dress."

"Don't be stupid."

"What?" To my surprise, she gave me a small smile. "Not your color?"

"You're not going to die."

"If I'm reaped today, I will. The only fighting I've ever done is with my hair."

I studied the horizon. The sun was over the waves now, soaring triumphantly into the blue skies above. Seagulls swooped down to catch a fish or two. They called madly to one another, their squawks carrying over the waves to where we sat.

I didn't know what to say to Gwen. The truth was that she would die, if she was reaped. She didn't have a fighting chance. I had been trained in the art of killing, and I could think of a thousand ways I might have finished her.

"You won't be reaped," I said instead.

"How do you know?"

"I see the future now." I kicked some sand at her, and she made a sound of protest. "It's one of my many talents."

"Liar."

"So I've been told."

We sat there until our feet grew wrinkled and pruned from the salt water. Gwen was shivering fiercely and, despite her protests that she was fine, I told her, somewhat ironically, that it was better if she didn't die of hypothermia before the Reaping. Gwen said goodbye at the end of the docks and reminded me to wear my hair down. I pulled a face but didn't argue.

When I slipped through the door, my father was waiting.

"Where were you?"

"Out." I knelt to take off my boots, but I was aware of his eyes on my back. My entire body was tensed in case he decided to take the opportunity to launch into one last practice fight. "Didn't you talk to mom?"

"She's been busy."

His eyes darted to the bedroom next to mine, the one with the unmade bed and starfish collecting dust, and I understood.

"Has she been in there all morning?"

"Yes." His voice was stiff. "Have you read the Manual again?"

Shit. I knew that I had forgotten something. There was an accusation in my father's voice that made me think he knew I hadn't, and I straightened, brushing dirt from my canvas pants. He waved the heavy book in front of my face.

"Have you read it?"

"Not yet."

"You can review it while you dress, then."

There was no room for argument in his voice. I took the Manual, looking down at the embossed, golden letters stamped on the front. _The Hunger Games: A Guide_. I could quote the introduction from memory. The pages felt as leaden and heavy as my heart.

"Go," my father said. "You don't have much time."

Obediently, I moved to my bedroom. My mother had laid a cream dress out on the bed, with lace running down the sleeves. There was a belt of woven brown rope at the waist, the same type that my father used down at the docks. I took comfort in the fact that I could always strangle someone if need be.

When I had struggled with the clasps at the back for a moment, there was a knock at the door. My mother hurried into the room.

"We don't have much time." She motioned for me to sit on the bed. "Where's your comb, darling? Oh, never mind. Here it is."

Her voice was breathless. There was a red flush across her cheeks that made me think she had some of the sherry that my father had been saving for a special occasion, but her hands were surprisingly steady in wiggling my hair from its hold.

"That dress looks perfect," she said.

"Thank-you." I picked uncomfortably at a lace sleeve. "Is it supposed to be this transparent?"

My mother laughed. "That's the style."

"It's not very practical."

"Fashion never is."

The steady rhythm of her comb running through my hair was oddly soothing, and I had trouble focusing on the Manual. I decided, given that I was short on time, I would just skim over the chapter about the Reaping. Most of the rules were reviewed at the actual ceremony itself.

"Anything interesting?" my mother asked, though her voice was tight.

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"Well, I never knew that you couldn't bring a goat with you," I told her. "Did you know that? It's a sign of disrespect, apparently."

My mother made a noise like she was trying not to laugh. "I'm sure."

I glanced at the small mirror across the room, decorated with white shells. My mother had finished with my hair, and it fell in sheets of red over my shoulders and down to my waist. She started next with the powder and liner. I knew by now that there was no point in fighting her on this. My mother was nothing if not ritualistic on Reaping day.

"There," she said, and dabbed a bit of something shiny on my lips. "Stunning."

"Is it too much?"

"In the Capitol," she said, "you wouldn't be dressed enough to go to the store."

There was a second knock on the door, and then my father entered immediately, striding in to the room. His eyes moved to the Manual, which was still open on my lap, and then to my face. I knew instantly by his expression that something was wrong.

"What is it?"

"The lip stuff," he said. "It makes you look too young."

I made to smear it off with the back of my hand, but my mother caught my wrist. To my surprise, she shook her head. Her eyes were on my father.

"It's tradition."

"And it worked when Leah was young enough that we could pass her off as cute," he said. "She needs a different strategy now, if she's picked. She needs to look intimidating."

They stared at one another for a moment. My mother's grip was still iron clad on my wrist, chaining me in manacles. I snuck a glance in the mirror once more. I hardly recognized myself; I looked years younger. The makeup had smoothed the pinched creases by my nose, and the liner made my eyes look wider. The lace dress reminded me of a little girl playing dress up.

"I agree with dad," I said.

My mother swallowed. Her hand fell from my wrist.

"Whatever you like, then."

I wiped the shiny gloss from my mouth. My father gave me something like a smile. He jerked his head towards the door, and I rose from my seat, giving my mother an awkward wave as I left for the Reaping.

* * *

_A/N: I realize that Leah certainly has a strong personality, to say the least, and it might not necessarily be a likeable one. That said, I believe that she's similar to Katniss in that she is fiercely protective of the one's that she loves, sometimes so much so that it blinds her from making the _right _or _good _decision. Please leave me a review and let me know what you think so far! Any guesses as to what's going to happen?_


	2. The Reaping

_A/N: Thank-you all so much for the follows and reviews! I had a few requesting that I change Leah's name to something more exciting, which I completely understand, but please be patient; Leah is actually short for something else, which will come up in the next few chapters. She'll also have her fair share of nicknames from several other characters, so don't worry about how plain the name is - she certainly will be called other things. In the mean time, enjoy!_

* * *

_Chapter Two_

* * *

Despite being a district of water, no one cried on Reaping day.

Dry-eyed parents mingled in the square. Smaller toddlers raced up and down the docks near the stage, wielding tiny tridents and plastic rods. The younger teenagers were always quiet, but the older ones made small talk about the weather and the tidal forecasts. Despite their restless hands and shifting eyes, they gave no sign of being nervous. It was expected that, in a village of Careers, nobody was.

"Leah!"

Gwen waved me over from a crowd of people, bouncing up and down on her tiptoes. Her blonde hair had been pinned up into a braided crown, and she was wearing the blue dress. Several boys nearby were staring at her. Gwen seemed entirely oblivious to them, and I grinned.

"You look nice."

"Me?" She elbowed me in the side. "You look gorgeous; I had forgotten that you had red hair beneath the layer of dirt."

Gwen twirled a lock. My fingers itched with the desire to pull the long strands up into a ponytail. I had left my elastic at home in case I wasn't able to resist. Just as I was about to speak, a pack of girls descended on Gwen.

"Gwenny!"

I waited patiently as the group of them embraced one another, exclaiming over their new dresses and the boys that they hoped to impress them with. I didn't know any of the girls that went to the local school; my father had pulled me out of classes at a young age in order to train me himself. If this was the result of public education, I was glad that he had.

"Sorry," Gwen said, untangling herself. "Girls, this is Leah."

"Hi." I gave an awkward, jolting wave. "You must go to school with Gwen."

Immediately, they all began talking at once.

"I love your hair!"

"Do you import dye from the Capitol?"

"That can't be your real voice."

"Is that an accent?"

The group of them watched me eagerly. I blinked, startled. Gwen looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh. When it became apparent that I wasn't going to speak, Gwen stepped forward, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

"Leah's a little shy."

I shot her an indignant look. Gwen winked.

The girls introduced themselves at lightning speed, never missing a beat. It was as if they were reciting a well-practiced speech. I didn't catch any of their names, but I got the drift that most of them ended in 'y.' No wonder they referred to Gwen as _Gwenny. _When they left, Gwen gave me an apologetic look.

"They're just nervous."

"Am I that intimidating?"

"No," she said, and then hesitated. "Well, yes, you are. But I meant because of the Reaping."

At her words, my eyes flicked to where the crowd had begun to gather around the stage. Cameras and lights were being adjusted. The escort for District Four, Agrippa Silverman, was having something glittery brushed over his cheekbones. His kohl-rimmed eyes were taking in the crowd with thinly concealed disdain coupled with amusement.

"Who's that?" Gwen asked.

"You mean Agrippa?"

"No," Gwen said. "Behind him."

I followed her gaze to where three chairs sat at the back of the stage, lost beneath the heavy banner advertising the seventy-second Hunger Games. All of them were occupied. The first two seats were taken by the mayor, a plump man with a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, and Mags; a young man that I had never seen before occupied the third.

"Where's Finnick?" Gwen asked.

"Don't know." I shrugged. "Probably intoxicated and passed out on a Capitol side street. He's obviously not mentoring this year."

Gwen pressed her lips together, but said nothing.

"The victors are better off without him, anyways," I continued. "He never brings back a winner."

"How do you know?" Gwen was frowning. "Who's to say the new mentor's any better?"

I studied the young man carefully. As part of my training, my father had made me suffer through hours of the televised Hunger Games. I could identify all of the major tribute's strengths and weaknesses. I didn't recognize the new mentor immediately, which meant that he had been a mediocre player, or else an underrated one.

"Leah?" Gwen nudged me. "Who is he?"

I squinted up at the stage, shielding my eyes. He looked like he was early twenties, which meant that he had competed roughly seven years ago. His blond hair was cropped close to his head. He sat rigidly, almost stiffly, as if a metal rod was strapped to his back. As if he could sense my eyes, the mentor turned to look at me. His brown eyes were narrowed, and I had the sudden image of a young boy leaping out of a tree, those same eyes staring blankly. I sucked in a breath.

"Leah?" Gwen looked alarmed. "What is it?"

"Abel."

"What?"

"That's his name." The mentor was still staring at me, and I looked away, pretending to be interested in the lace cuffs of my dress. "Abel competed in the sixty-fifth Hunger Games. He tried to kill himself by throwing himself off a tree halfway through."

It explained why I hadn't recognized him straight away; the Capitol didn't like to advertise his victory. As soon as Abel had left the arena, the entire thing was swept neatly under the rug. Gwen's hand flew to her mouth.

"That's-"

"Honest." I had the oddest urge to laugh, and I shook my head. "I remember that he was so refreshingly honest."

Gwen gave me a strange look. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by the sound of a buzzer. Like moths drawn to a flame, the crowd began to move, rolling in waves towards the stage. The oldest pressed forward to the front. Gaggles of twelve-year-olds clung to one another near the back.

"Ready?" I asked.

Gwen nodded. Together, we pushed towards the section of girls our age. The crowd I had met earlier was already there, but they were no longer speaking, standing tight-lipped and staring straight ahead. I caught sight of my father watching from the awning of a store nearby. He inclined his head.

An elbow dug into my side. Gwen had gone pale.

"Do you see Finn?"

I was no taller than Gwen, but I stood on my tiptoes, scanning through the section of eighteen-year-old boys. I couldn't see any sign of his tall frame and telltale blond hair. Gwen appeared to have come to the same conclusion, because she grew very still. The heart-shaped mark on her cheek quivered.

"Do you think he's okay?"

"We saw Finn a few hours ago."

"You didn't answer my question," Gwen said.

I was spared a response. There was a ripple in the crowd, and then the crush of bodies parted to let Finn slip through. His hair was soaked wet, and he groomed it to the side with his fingers. The tie around his neck was askew. From further down the docks, I could see his mother holding his soaked t-shirt.

"Mom's going to kill him later," Gwen said, but she sounded relieved.

"He's not late."

"It's not like he's early, either."

As if to punctuate her words, the microphone gave a crackling sound. The machine sputtered, and then came to life. There was a polite spatter of applause as the Mayor took the stage. His eyes darted nervously to the Peacekeeper's, but his voice remained steady as he gave the preliminary speech. I was only half listening.

"Does Agrippa Silverman look even more sparkly this year?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice low. It was brimming with barely suppressed laughter. "He looks like one of those disco balls from the Capitol."

To my surprise, Gwen said nothing.

"Seriously?" I nudged her. "Is it because I'm being mean again?"

"Leah."

"What?"

I did a double take. Gwen's cheeks were an alarming shade of red, although most of her skin was drained of blood. Strands of blonde hair escaped her braids and stuck to her forehead. Her breathing was shallow. For half a second, I was sure that she was going to faint.

"I took Tesserae."

"You-" I blinked. "What?"

"The house is in shambles," she said. "My old dress didn't fit anymore. Mom and Dad were desperate, and I didn't know what else to do."

I was only dimly aware of the scattered applause around us. On the stage, the Mayor took his seat once more, looking relieved. Agrippa made his way to the podium. He turned to address the cameras with a languid grin. A rulebook was produced from his pocket, and I tuned back out again.

"Tell me you're joking."

"I'm not," Gwen said.

My heartbeat was pounding in my ears. "I would have done it for you. My family could have lent you money. Anything you needed."

"I never said it was the smartest plan."

Agrippa Silverman closed the rulebook. The cameras focused on the two balls filled with slips of paper, and I was forced to pay attention. Gwen's hand slipped in to mine. Her fingers were shaking, and I squeezed her hand, hard. My mouth felt dry. I couldn't seem to focus properly.

"Ladies first," Agrippa said.

I watched as his sparkly hand fished around the bowl. His golden nails scratched each piece of paper. He was a cat toying with a sea of mice, and I could tell that he was enjoying it, relishing in every anxious jolt and nervous swallow from an audience member. I tried to hold as still as possible.

Agrippa snatched a piece near the surface.

Gwen was squeezing my hand so tightly I thought my fingers might break. Agrippa snapped open the piece of paper, unraveling it with a flourish.

"_Gwenyth Peltier_."

My heart stopped.

Next to me, Gwen had gone very still. Her grip was vice-like. I was only half aware of her dropping my hand, and then disappearing into the crowd. My limbs were sluggish. I couldn't seem to fill my lungs with the proper amount of air. I thought of what Gwen had said earlier on the beach.

_If I'm reaped today, I will die. _

Up on the stage, Gwen wasn't crying, but the mark on her cheek was bobbing up and down, which meant that she was close. Her thin arms were curled around herself. In her blue dress, she looked much younger than she really was.

I wanted to say something. I wanted to scream, and storm the stage, and take down every single Peacekeeper. But my body wouldn't seem to move. Agrippa's hand was already in the second bowl.

Numbly, I watched as he pulled a second name from the container.

"_Finley Peltier_."

I realized that Gwen hadn't been the only one to take the Tesserae.

Finn ignored the whispering as he made his way up to the stage. A few boys clapped him on the back, but Finn kept his eyes fixed firmly on the podium. His hair was still damp from his swim. Agrippa looked like a cat that had swallowed a canary, and he clapped his hands together.

"Siblings!" he purred. "How adorable."

Gwen flung herself at Finn. He held tightly to her, as if she was the only thing anchoring him to the stage. The look in his eyes reminded me of the times that I had seen my mother sleepwalking: half-awake, half-dead.

I was hardly aware that I was moving until the crowd began to part around me. I shoved my way through the packed groups of people. My movements grew hastier until I was running, knocking people aside in my desperation to reach the stage. My tongue felt heavy, and the words were ripped from my throat, clawing their way into the morning air.

"I volunteer! As a tribute, I'm volunteering."

* * *

A/N: Please leave a review! I'd love to hear your thoughts on what you think of the characters, and any guesses as to what's going to happen…


	3. Goodbye

_Chapter Three_

* * *

"I'm volunteering."

The crowd went silent. I could hear only the thrum of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears, crashing in time with the surf. My hands wrapped around the edge of the stage for support. Agrippa Silverman studied me from the podium above as if I was a particularly uninteresting bug he had discovered. The corners of his lips were twisted upwards.

"Sorry, darling," he said. "Girls can't volunteer for boys."

"I'm not."

That caught his attention. Agrippa's smile widened.

"It's too late to volunteer for the girl."

Two Peacekeepers were slowly closing in on me, and I was momentarily distracted by the size of their weapons. I ran a quick scan of myself for possible defenses: the braided belt, my hands, and potentially my hair, if I could blind them with it. It took me a moment to realize that Agrippa was still waiting for my response.

"It's not too late," I said. "I've read the rulebook."

"So have I."

My lip curled. Any fear was replaced by agitation, and I glared at him, hardly aware of the cameras focusing on my face. "Section 4.7, second paragraph."

There was a pause as Agrippa held my gaze. Slowly, he lifted the rulebook, thumbing through it. His rimmed eyes scanned the pages. I knew what he would find there; it was legal to volunteer for any tribute until they were both escorted off the stage. The question was whether it was worth sacrificing the entertainment two siblings would bring the Capitol for the sake of honoring the rulebook.

Agrippa's eyes were bright with amusement. "What's your name?"

"Leah." I hesitated before adding, "Maleah Sterling."

"And you want to volunteer for Ms. Peltier?"

"Well, I don't _want _to, but I'm going to."

There was an irritated edge to my voice, hot sparks under the pressure of a steel press. Agrippa laughed. There was nothing cheerful about the sound, but my shoulders relaxed. I could hear the excitement in it; he was thrilled at his new toy to play with. It was better than any pair of siblings would be.

"Come on up, Maleah."

Agrippa jerked his head, and the Peacekeepers moved to grab my arms. I took a step out of arm's reach. Steeling myself, I moved up the steps, hardly aware of the guns pressed in to my back. Gwen was half-dragged down by another set of Peacekeepers in white suits. There were tears in her eyes.

"Leah-"

The guard wrenched her arm, and she fell silent.

Finn was watching me intently. His expression was a mixture of relief and something else, and when I moved to stand beside him, Finn let out a breath between his teeth. His arm was tensed at his side. For half a second, I thought Finn was going to take my hand, but then Agrippa spoke again.

"I take it you two know one another."

Finn nodded, his jaw locked. His tie was still crooked and I had the oddest desire to straighten it for him. Instead, I balled my hands into fists. There was the sound of coughing behind me, and when I turned, I realized that Abel was trying not to laugh.

Agrippa's eyes were filled with malicious delight. He had angled his body in a way that the camera couldn't possibly have filmed Finn and I without having him in the shot as well. "You should have no problem shaking hands, then."

Finn stuck out his arm. I took it.

The taller boy's hand was warm, and there were callouses that matched mine from our days spent on the fishing boats. Standing this close, I could smell the salt and brine of sea rolling off his skin. He offered me a half smile.

"May the odds be in both of our favor."

I nodded.

This was the reason I had volunteered. Finn Peltier was much too kind for his own good, and Gwen loved her brother. She could have never killed him.

But I could.

And I would.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Agrippa said. "Your tributes of the seventy-second Hunger Games!"

* * *

The Peacekeepers led me to a small room in the back of the Mayor's office. The faint smell of old wood and mildew lingered in the space, and chipped white paper with flower stencils lined the walls. There were two easy chairs, a blanket, and a coffee table wedged in the corner. A vase of shells and sand decorated the surface of the table.

It wasn't two minutes before my father burst in.

"What the hell were you thinking, Leah?"

I flinched. "Well-"

"I trained you to prepare you for the worst!" he shouted. "I trained you so that you had a fighting chance, not so that you could volunteer like some brawny Career signing herself up for the slaughter!"

Tears sprung to my eyes, and I blinked them away. "I-"

"You're going to die!"

My father seized the vase from the table. He pitched it towards the wall, and there was a shattering sound as the glass broke into a million tiny pieces. I threw my hands in front of my eyes. Immediately, the door opened, and two armed guards materialized.

"Step away from the girl."

"It's fine," I said. "He's my dad."

Neither Peacekeeper lowered their weapon. My father's chest was heaving up and down. There were two red spots on his cheeks that made me think he wasn't done yet, and I crossed the room quickly, planting myself in front of him.

"Leave," I told them, "or shoot me instead."

We were locked in a stalemate. I kept my eyes level with the guns. Eventually, the guards relaxed, although neither lowered their weapon as they disappeared through the door. I took several steps away from my father. His hands were shaking.

"I taught you better than this, Leah."

"I have a better chance than Gwen would have."

"Not if you continue this," my father said. "Not if you keep putting others before yourself. You won't survive the first bloodbath."

My father sunk into one of the chairs. For the first time, I could see the pulse beating in his temple. His eyes were sunken holes. I realized that he was trying to keep it together, but I could see where he was unraveling at the seams, turning into scraps and pieces. My throat felt thick.

"Dad-"

The door opened, and my mother slipped through.

"_Leah_."

Her arms went around me. I stiffened as she patted my hair, smoothing the strands until they lay in smooth sheets of red. My shoulders felt damp. She was crying. I wrapped a hesitant arm around her torso.

"I'm alright."

"I'm not."

My mom pulled back. I could see the red of her eyes, but it was as if she was looking past me at something else. I was reminded of the times I caught her sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the room beside mine with the unmade bed inside.

I realized with a pang that she had been through this before.

"I'll come back," I said. "It's different this time."

My mother touched my face. "You're so much like her."

"I'm stronger."

"You'll have to be," she said.

She sunk into the seat beside my father, and he took her hand in his own. My mother hardly seemed to notice. The grey in both of their hair seemed suddenly more pronounced, and I wondered how I had never noticed how tired and worn they looked before. There was no life left in either of my parents.

"Why?" my mother asked, and her voice broke. "Why did you volunteer?"

"For Gwen."

My mother made a choking sound. "She's not family."

"She is to me."

I sat on the coffee table and, with complete disregard for any etiquette, pulled my feet on to the table. For once, my father didn't comment. I thought of the many practice drills we had run; drills where I was strapped to the chair to improve my posture, or fed spicy food and told not to gag. My father had taught me anything to convince sponsors that I was worth choosing over another tribute.

And now, I would execute each lesson alone.

"Don't hate Gwen for this," I said. "It's not her fault."

"I won't."

My mother's hands fiddled with the hem of her shirt, and she couldn't seem to meet my eyes. For having raised a liar, she wasn't particularly good at it herself. I let my chin drop to my knees. My eyes went to my father.

"Promise me that you'll have Gwen over. The Games will be hard for her."

"I'll keep an eye on her."

"Thank-you. I know that Finn-"

I broke off abruptly, but the damage was done. My mother's hands froze. She leaned forward, and the florescent light caught her hair, bringing out the fierce reds. Her face was solemn.

"Finn is not your friend, Leah."

"I know that."

"Do you?" Her voice was soft. "He might be your District partner, but that doesn't mean you can trust him. Finn will pretend to hand you a weapon and then stab you through the middle."

I winced. "Mom-"

"You should know better than anyone," she continued, "that in the Games, it's the ones you're close to that have the power to destroy you."

I bit my lip. Her words coaxed a memory out of the shadows, suddenly filling my mind with blazing conviction: two girls running along a beach, their red hair flying behind them like banners. The feel of sun and surf, and the spray of salt water. The smell of coconut sunscreen. The older girl is laughing, and the younger is yelling, her tiny feet slapping on the wood as she hurries to keep up-

"Leah."

I could tell by my father's voice that it wasn't the first time he had called my name. I sat up a little straighter. "Yes?"

"Do you understand?"

"Yes." I studied my fingers. "I'll come back, I promise."

"Sometimes," my mother said, "I wish that you weren't such a good liar."

There were tears in her eyes. She held out an arm, and I hesitated. My father cleared his throat. Obediently, I rose, moving to where my mother was waiting patiently. I sat on the crook of her armchair and allowed her to stroke the ends of my hair methodically.

"You really do look beautiful," she told me.

"Thank-you."

"We're so proud of you," my father said.

"Thank-you."

"I love you."

This time, both my mother and father said it in unison, and I glanced up. It wasn't something that my mother said often. I couldn't remember the last time that my father had said he loved something aside from the sea. They were both watching me carefully. I reached out with both hands and latched on to their wrists. My parents joined their free hands.

We sat in a triangle until the fluorescent light died, and by the time that I had been collected by the Peacekeeper's, my hands had memorized their touch.

* * *

**A/N: Please **leave a review! I won't say that having only two reviews so far is discouraging, but it is a little disheartening, and I'd love to hear what you think so far!


	4. Chocolate Bars

**Author's Note: **Thanks to everyone that has been clicking the "favourite" button! Every time, it makes me smile

* * *

_Chapter Four_

The train was small enough that I couldn't avoid Finn.

Our bedrooms were sandwiched together and, out of the six on the train, we were somehow lucky enough to be assigned the ones with an adjoining washroom. The dinner table was packed so tightly that our elbows would have brushed. The living room and kitchen were wedged in the corner of the train, which left only the glass dome up front as solace.

Unfortunately, Agrippa had claimed the area.

"I need to work on my tan."

"So?" I crossed my arms over my chest. "Rub dirt on your arms."

"Too _avant garde_ even for me, darling." Agrippa winked, and the blue glitter on his eye shadow caught the light. "Now, play nice. We can't have you murdering anyone before the cameras turn on."

Agrippa jaunted off in the direction of the sunroom, tossing a careless wave behind him. The rings on his fingers made clinking sounds. I debated pestering him further, but eventually decided that, tribute or not, he still had the power to have me thrown off a moving train. I settled instead on the couch in the living room.

"Hey, you."

Finn vaulted over the sofa, landing gracefully beside me. His blond hair was mussed up, and the shoulders of his shirt were damp, but he was smiling. A hand shot out to pluck the remote off the table.

"Have you scoped out the competition yet?"

Finn said it as if we were watching a sports game. I shook my head. "We should wait for the mentors."

"Well, it's not like they're going to be much help at this stage." Finn adopted a low-pitched voice that, if I had to guess, was supposed to be Abel. "_Avoid the ones with the big muscles. They're scary_."

I stared at him. "This isn't a joke."

"I wasn't trying to be funny. You really should avoid the scary ones."

I sat, tight-lipped, as Finn flicked on the television. A reporter from the Capitol was speaking at a rapid pace. Her eyelashes had peacock feathers on the end that were distracting when she blinked. From what I could tell from her excited babbling, the Reaping would be broadcast within the next five minutes.

"This is so stupid," I said.

"What?"

"This." I gestured to the television. "Pretending like it's some celebration."

"It is, to them."

I pulled my knees up to my chin. Finn was studying me carefully. The smile had gone from his face, and there were veins branching through his green eyes that I hadn't noticed before. They looked swollen and red.

"You didn't say good-bye to Gwen," he noted.

"I know." I glanced down at my hands. "It's better that way."

"Why?"

_Because if I had, Gwen would have asked me not to kill you._

I smiled blandly at him, but didn't answer. Finn shrugged. He settled back into the sofa, and his bare feet rested against my thigh. It was a familiar gesture that Finn seemed oblivious to, but I couldn't focus on the television. His heat burned a hole through the fabric of my pants.

"You must be Leah."

I straightened. Abel was watching me from the arm of the couch. His eyes slid over my face to where Finn's feet were propped against my leg. I felt an unfamiliar color begin to rise in my cheeks.

"And you're Abel."

He raised an eyebrow. "You know my name."

"I do my research."

We stared at one another for a moment. Abel's eyes were sharp, and they reminded me of an eagle scanning a field for mice. Despite no longer having a chair to lean against, his posture was still ramrod straight.

"You're a Career, then."

I smiled stiffly. "Not quite."

"You volunteered," he reminded me.

"Well," I said, "I volunteeredbut it wasn't really _voluntary_."

Finn's interest had switched from the television to our exchange. At my words, his shoulders went rigid. There was a jump in his throat. Leaning across me, he stuck out a hand towards Abel.

"I'm Finn."

"Good," Abel said, and he took his hand. "You're personable."

I noticed that he hadn't said the same thing to me. Maybe having a strong personality didn't necessarily make you _personable_. Whatever the reason, my father had apparently overlooked a crucial part of my education.

"And this is Mags," Abel said.

Our mentor jerked his head to where an elderly woman hovered a few feet away. Her long, grey hair was twisted back into a braid. Half-moon glasses were perched on the edge of her nose. When Mags caught me looking, she offered me a warm smile.

"She doesn't talk much," Abel told us.

"Well, I do," Finn said, smiling cheekily, "so we should get along well."

To my surprise, Mags moved forward to pat him on the head. Her gaze was oddly maternal. It took me a moment to realize that, with his cheerful attitude and blond hair, Finn Peltier looked a lot like another Finn from District 4 that Mags had mentored. I clenched my hands into fists.

"Any first impression advice?" I asked.

"Yeah." Abel's smile was wry. "Lose the attitude."

I blinked. "You just met me."

"It was my first impression."

I couldn't help it; I glared. The corners of his lips twitched, and I realized that Abel was trying not to laugh. I turned resolutely back towards the television. I felt Finn shift slightly towards me, and his shoulder pressed in to mine. Mags took the easy chair beside the sofa, and Abel stretched out on the floor.

The music swelled, and then the cameras focused on two bowls on a stage. The words "District One" flashed at the bottom of the screen. I watched, half-numb, as a woman pulled two names from the containers. My mind analyzed the pair of them automatically: Careers, allies, and possible threats.

"What do you think?" Abel asked.

"The girl seems naïve," Finn said immediately. "Breakable."

I studied the screen. The District One girl reminded me vaguely of a china doll: blonde hair, blue eyes, and ridiculously long eyelashes. When she spoke, her voice was buttered honey. Her manicured nails were sharpened into talons, and I wasn't aware that I was shaking my head until Abel said my name.

"What?"

"I asked," he said, "what you thought of her."

"She's dangerous."

Finn snorted. "Really?"

"Obviously." I stared at him like he was crazy. "Look at her nails."

"Her _what_?"

Finn looked at me like I had suggested that we examine her freckles to determine her battle tactics. I impatiently explained to him that the sharp nails were weapons, concealed, so that she could bring them into the arena. When I finished, Abel was watching me carefully.

"You've done this before," he observed.

I looked at him doubtfully. "Competed?"

"No." He studied me thoughtfully. "Analyzed opponents."

Abel didn't say anything else, but I could hear the grudging respect in his voice. Finn could too, apparently, because the rest of the opponents became a game. We analyzed each mannerism. We ranked skills and appearance and whether or not the tribute posed a threat. Mags began to take notes in a spiral notepad. When we reached District Six, Finn let out a low whistle.

"The threat is minimal," Finn announced. "The guy's going to off himself before the Games even begin."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Abel flinch. The tribute on the screen was bawling hysterically. He was thin and wiry, with a shock of dark hair. His eyes darted around the crowd like a caged rabbit looking for an escape.

"Agreed," I said. "He won't survive the first bloodbath."

"Want to barter? Twenty coins says he doesn't make it off the platform."

Finn shot me a lazy grin. His arm was thrown behind him, and his legs were sprawled across my lap. I had relaxed into a seated position. Our limbs tangled together, and the warmth from his skin had become oddly comforting.

"You're on," I said.

We sat through the rest of District Six and Seven. When the camera panned the tributes from number Eight, I sat up a little straighter. The boy looked like a breeze could have carried him away, but the girl…

"What?" Finn scrunched up his nose. "What do you see?"

I opened my mouth, and then closed it.

Nothing. That was the problem.

"There's something off about the girl," I said.

Finn appraised the television. "I don't see anything."

The female tribute stood at a little over five feet, and she couldn't have been much younger than I was. Dark bangs fell into her eyes. The rest of it was plaited neatly down her back, and she wore a red sarong and robe. Her skin was the crisp color of cinnamon.

"She's hiding something."

"Yeah," Finn said, "the desire to vomit. She looks scared out of her mind."

His voice was light. I was about to argue, but then stopped myself at the last second. Was it really a bad thing if Finn underestimated one of the opponents? It would be better if I didn't have to kill him myself. Gwen might forgive me if I couldn't protect Finn, but she wasn't likely to want to lend dresses to her brother's murderer.

"Leah?" I glanced up. Abel was standing, a key in his hand. "I need to check your suitcase for weapons."

I almost laughed. "I'm not stupid enough to-"

"It's protocol." Abel's voice was neutral, but there was an undercurrent of something heavier, thick and viscous like molasses. "My apologies."

Finn was still watching the program with rapt attention. His voice rattled off numbers as another set of tributes took the stage, and Mags was scribbling quickly in the notebook. I untangled myself from Finn's legs. Abel was already halfway down the train, and I had to hurry to keep up.

"I don't plan to bomb the train, you know."

"I never said that you did."

"This is unnecessary." I was at his heels, now. Abel moved like an arrow: fast, direct, and without changing course. "I don't think-"

"Leah." His voice was hard. "Shut-up."

For being so much younger, Abel sounded a lot like my father. I fell silent automatically. My hands jumped to pull at the end of my red ponytail, and I forced them to my sides, taking deep breaths. My heart rate had tripled. My mind was already scanning for exits. Abel paused outside of the door to his bedroom.

"You're not checking my suitcase," I said.

"Come on, Leah." He smiled. "You're smarter than that."

A flick of his wrist turned the key in the lock. The door popped open, and I cautiously followed him inside. The room had a similar layout to my own: wooden bed, nightstand, armchair, and a sleek closet with a million levers that I instantly wanted to pull. Abel sat down on the bed.

"I like you," he said.

"Oh." I blinked. "That's not a reaction I'm used to."

"I thought not."

"You told me that I should lose the attitude," I reminded him. "You implied that I'm lacking personality."

"People with personality don't win the Games." Abel sighed, and his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. "You need to be a machine. Turn it all off."

There was something in his voice that made me think he knew it from experience. Uncomfortable, I took a seat in the armchair. My hands played with the fraying edges of my dress. I wanted to change. I wanted to leave this room, and sit in the shower, and drown myself beneath the hot water until my fingers turned to prunes. Still, I didn't move.

"You didn't turn it all off," I said.

His head jerked up. "Why do you say that?"

"You tried to kill yourself." I stated it like a fact, straight from a textbook, and Abel looked surprised enough that he didn't wince. "You threw yourself out of a tree on the fourth day. If that isn't feeling, I don't know what is."

"You really have done your homework."

"I play to win."

We regarded each other wearily for a moment. I was growing tired of these careful exchanges, dancing around one another like fighters locked in a cage, and I could tell that Abel was too. His posture crumpled. Abel stretched out, cat like, on the bed, and for the first time I could see exactly how young he really was.

"I don't like people all that often," he said.

"That makes two of us."

"But you could win. You have what it takes, Leah."

"Thank-you." I looked at my hands. "I think."

Abel sat up, propping himself up on one elbow to look at me. The last of the sun streaming in through the window bathed him in shadow. His body was a dark silhouette. I could only see the glitter of his eyes, and the dust motes circling above his head in a halo of dirt.

"I need to know what you're willing to do in order to win," he said.

"Anything." The answer was immediate. "Everything."

Abel seemed to have expected that response, and he nodded. He tipped his head towards the door. "Even if it means killing that boy out there?"

"You heard what I said."

"There's a difference between desire and capability." This time, Abel's voice was tinged with something that I didn't recognize, an almost desperate sort of sadness. He let out a heavy breath. "The things we intend… we aren't always able to go through with them."

I crossed my legs. Uncrossed them again.

"There can only be one winner," I said, "and there's exactly one of me."

That was all there was to be said.

Abel rose from the bed. His feet made slapping sounds on the floor, and he crossed the room, rummaging in his cupboards. There was the crinkle of paper. When he emerged, he tossed something to me. I caught it, squinting in the light to make it out. A chocolate bar sat in the palm of my hand. Not a seaweed bar, or one made of fish, but an honest-to-god chocolate bar.

"Don't tell Finley," Abel said.

I wasn't sure which part he was referring to.

* * *

A/N: I like reviews, and if you like the story, then please let me know that you like it because I like that!


	5. A Nightmare

**A/N: **Thanks to all those who reviewed; the journey is just beginning!

* * *

_Chapter Five_

* * *

_I was going to die._

_ My arms and legs were bound in thick sailing ropes. The skin beneath them felt raw and sore. There wasn't much light, and the smell of sulfur told me that I was underground. Dripping noises. The air was thin and reedy. __There was the flash of silver, and __I cried out as the knife bit into my flesh. Beads of red welled up along my cheek; I couldn't tell what were hot tears and what was blood. Jagged bolts of pain radiated along the surface of my skin._

_ A white smile grinned. "Enjoying yourself?"_

_ I bit down hard on my lip. My hands were trembling, and the friction against the rope made my wrists sore. My hair felt matted and tangled. The invisible tribute laughed, and then there was a second pain. A white-hot iron pressed against my thigh. A scream escaped me, ripped from my lungs._

_ "More?" he asked. "Do you want more?"_

_ I shook my head. The tribute's smile was grim._

_ "Nobody here to save you now, is there?" he asked._

_ He drove forward with his shoulder. The back of my head smacked against the far wall, and stars exploded in front of my eyes. The impact ran down my spine. My lungs couldn't seem to take in enough air. My breath came in gasps._

_ "Show your face," I spat. "Coward."_

_ More laughing. The tiniest crack of light illuminated a patch on the rock floor, and the tribute leaned forward. Calloused hands from fishing. Blond hair. What I had mistaken earlier for a knife was actually a trident, glittering in the sunlight._

_ Finnick Odair._

_ My mouth went dry. My heart was slamming painfully in my chest, and I couldn't remember how to speak. This body wasn't mine. The voice I spoke with was higher pitched, and the red hair was two shades lighter. _

_ And suddenly, I was out of the body, pinned to the wall. I watched as Finnick drove the trident towards the girl's heart. The word was ripped from my lungs, an unearthly shriek of terror._

_ "Ella!"_

I woke up drenched in sweat.

Red hair stuck to my forehead, and I was gasping for air. My lungs felt deflated and crushed. I could feel my hands trembling. Numbly, I reached for the dressing gown on the chair beside the bed. My hands were shaking too badly to do up the buttons, but I threw it over my shoulders. I buried my head in my hands. My chest was heaving. The room wouldn't seem to stop spinning, and I had the sudden feeling that I might be sick.

"Leah?"

The door leading into the bathroom cracked open. Feet padded into the room, and there was a muffled curse as something connected with the chair. The boy continued in a hushed whisper.

"Sterling, are you in here?"

My heart was beating wildly. It was the same tall, blond frame from my dream. Without a second thought, I launched myself across the room. My fists collided with the boy's chest. There was a _crash _as we knocked against the closet, sending t-shirts and shoes flying.

"Hey!" The boy caught my hands. "Calm down, crazy."

I swung out, hoping to nick his jaw. The boy trapped my hand and brought it to my side. With a speed that I wasn't expecting, he threw me on the bed. There was the flick of the lamp on the nightstand being switched on.

"Save it for the arena," Finn said.

His hair was tousled from sleep, and he stifled a yawn with his hand. His cheeks were flushed a deep red. A quick scan of his face told me that there were purple bags beneath his eyes from lack of sleep, but that my attack had left no marks. Mortified, I stared at the floor.

"I was-"

"Having a bad dream." Finn yawned again. "I heard you."

I could have kicked myself. "Did the others hear me too?"

"No." Finn sat down on the bed, propping his legs up. He leaned back against the pillows with his hands resting behind his head. "I asked an Avox to supply them with ear plugs."

"You-" A thought occurred to me. "Do I do this often?"

"Every time you sleep over with Gwen."

At some point, my body had gravitated towards his, and I curled up around the other pillow. I tipped my head upwards to look at him. Finn's eyes were half closed, and he looked half-awake. The lamplight painted him in liquid gold.

"Why didn't you wear ear plugs, then?" I asked.

For the first time, Finn looked uncomfortable. "They fell out."

"Liar."

"Creative truth teller," he corrected me.

We sat in silence for a moment. My heartbeat had slowed back to normal, and my hands were only a little cold. I wrapped them in fistfuls of the blanket. Finn was watching me carefully.

"Do you want me to find some medicine?"

"No." I shook my head. "I'm alright now."

"You don't look alright to me."

Finn peered at my face, and his hand brushed the limp strands of hair from my forehead. It was a strange feeling to have someone watch me with the expression that Finn had now. It was a brotherly fondness, and even if I hadn't known Gwen, I could have guessed in that moment that Finn had a younger sister.

"Thank-you."

"For what?"

"This." I picked at the corner of the blanket. "Helping me."

Finn looked a little bewildered. "I haven't done anything yet."

"You've done plenty."

I reached across him to flick off the lamp. Finn made as if to stand up, but I waved him back down. I couldn't see his expression in the dark. Slowly, he slid down so that our bodies were level. Finn turned his head, and his eyes were twin sparks in the dim light.

"You said a name."

I froze. "When?"

"Just now, when you had the nightmare. You said _Ella_."

Finn didn't ask anything, but I could hear the undercurrent of curiosity. I was suddenly very thankful it was dark. When I didn't say anything, he let out a breath. His forearm pressed in to mine.

"You're not very good at trusting people, are you, Sterling?"

I almost laughed. "No."

"We'll have to work on that." And then, almost to himself, "I'll work on that."

Gradually, Finn's breathing slowed, becoming steady and deep. His face relaxed. He looked much younger when he slept, and I could see the freckles on his nose where his skin had seen too much sun. I closed my eyes.

I fell asleep to the sound of Finn's breathing.

* * *

When I woke, Finn was gone.

In his place was a woman with bouncy red curls and eyes printed with cheetah spots. She was studying me with a hungry expression that made me think the eyes might be real. Alarmed, I jerked upwards, wrapping the covers protectively around my chest. The woman laughed low in her throat.

"Don't bother, dear. I've seen it all already."

The blankets moved up to my chin. "Who the hell are you?"

"Well," she said, "how rude."

The woman was lying stretched out on her side, and her head was propped up on her elbow. Her short black dress couldn't have been longer than my forearm. She yawned and rubbed at her eyes. The liner smudged, thick and smoky.

"Hurry up, darling," she said. "I need my coffee."

"Not until you tell me who you are."

"Your stylist." She held out a red, manicured hand. It hovered limply in front of me, as if she expected me to kiss it. "Valentina Florus."

I could tell by her emphasis on the last few words that her name was supposed to mean something to me. I stared at Valentina's hand. Covered in strange silver ink and red nail polish, it looked like some sort of foreign fish.

"Right." I pushed back my covers. "Get out while I change."

"Oh, no, sweet dove," Valentina purred. "I've already taken the liberty of choosing an outfit for you."

I followed her eyes to where a scrap of material covered the armchair. The skirt looked more like a scarf, and the top reminded me of the netted fishing traps back home. I raised a dubious eyebrow.

"I'm not wearing that."

"Well, certainly not at the Opening Ceremonies." Valentina examined her nails lazily, picking at the chipping red. "That's just until we reach the remake centre."

In the end, we compromised on a pair of tight black jeans and a low-cut red top that didn't leave much to the imagination. Luckily, Finn had already left the apartment for his own styling appointment. Only Abel was still around, taking a draught from a mug. When I entered the living room, his eyebrows shot to his hairline, and he choked on his tea.

"Is this how you plan to get Sponsors?" he coughed.

I scowled. "This wasn't my idea."

"It might help you in the Arena."

Abel's face was the picture of innocence, but his eyes were bright with amusement. I had the desire to knock the mug out of his hand. Behind me, Valentina sauntered into the room, her heels clicking on the floor. Immediately, Abel straightened. His body was stiff.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"That depends." Valentina winked. "What do you want to do with me?"

Abel's face was impassive. "Ask you to leave, preferably."

I coughed to stifle a laugh. Valentina looked stunned for a moment. Then, her full, red lips curled into a smile. The predatory manner was back. She slunk across the room, swinging her hips as she went. Abel watched her warily.

"Can I help you with something?"

"Yes." Her voice was a low, sultry growl. "A whole number of things."

Her hips were pressed up against the counter. I couldn't help it; I mimed a gagging motion. The corner of Abel's lips twitched, but his face remained solemn. I took several steps forward and tugged on Valentina's arm.

"Come on," I said. "Don't you have sparkles to put on my face?"

The ride over to the remake center was blissfully short. The Capitol streets were crowded with people adorned in tall hats and wigs. Several wore feathered swimsuits or scaly dresses. As we passed by, a few called my name, and the swing of their words were oddly familiar. They sounded like my mother's.

"They're imitating your accent in the Capitol, you know," Valentina said.

My head snapped up. "What?"

"Come now, darling." Her voice was sweet poison. "It's become a sensation."

So that's why I recognized the tone. Valentina was waiting for my reaction, and I refused to give her one. I fixed my gaze on the window until the remake center came into view. It was a low, flat building with clean-cut lines and windows. The outside was white tile. Valentina led me through a lobby and into the hall. I passed several other female tributes hovering uncertainly outside numbered doors. Most of them were still sporting grubby faces and messy hair. Valentina wrinkled her nose as we passed them.

We arrived at a door with a golden four above the wooden frame. Valentina breezed into the room, and several assistants and people toting products exclaimed excitedly. She held out her manicured hand, like a queen accepting her due.

"My darlings," she said, "this is Leah."

Everyone's gaze landed on me. I tried not to shift uncomfortably as they took in my body, examining it in the same critical manner that Valentina had. Several nodded. A few chewed on the end of pencils thoughtfully.

"Hurry, now." Valentina clapped her hands. "Time is of the essence!"

The next few minutes were a whir of material and movement. Any unnecessary hair was removed from my body. My skin was buffed and polished and softened. Something that smelled like oranges was applied to the back of my knees and elbows and neck. I was allowed a dressing gown, but nothing else. According to Valentina, the assistants needed quick access to my body. My toes and nails were painted a shimmering turquoise. Valentina had just begun to despair over the snarls and tangles in my red hair when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," she said.

Abel slipped in to the room. I automatically yanked my robe shut.

"You can't be in here," I hissed.

"Says who?" He raised an eyebrow. "You're not in charge, Leah."

"The stylist says so." I turned to where Valentina had propped one heeled foot on a stool. Her hands were still in my hair, but she was contemplating Abel with dark eyes. "Don't you, Valentina?"

"Not particularly." Her voice was a purr. "Stay all you like."

I sighed, but resigned myself to my fate. Abel took a seat on the vanity table. His arm knocked over a pot of powder brushes, but Valentina didn't seem to mind. Her hand yanked a brush through my hair and I winced.

"What do you want?"

"Finn slept in your room last night," he said, "and I want to know why."

* * *

**A/N: **Please leave a review! Who do you think Ella is? What will Leah's outfit look like? I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	6. Unexpected Visitor

**A/N**: Thanks to dauntlessflock for reviewing! As I'm on spring break, I hope to get more writing done in the next little while. Many more chapters to come!

* * *

_Chapter Six_

* * *

My heart dropped. I could feel the weight of Abel's gaze on me, and I stared straight ahead at the mirror. My skin looked especially pale now that the dirt and sea had been scrubbed from it. Valentina's brushing had slowed, and I had the feeling that her curiosity had peaked. I feigned interest in my nails.

"So Finn was in my room," I said. "Since when is that illegal?"

"Well," Abel said, "I'm no expert, but unless you plan to stab Finn in his sleep, I don't see where this strategy is going."

Abel's words were saturated with sarcasm. When he sat up in his usual rigid position, I could see that he easily had a foot of height on me. The flimsy dressing gown I wore and the primping made me feel young and vulnerable, and I tried to give him the most indignant look that I could manage.

"It is strategic."

"Really?"

"Yes." I kept my expression neutral. "Finn trusts me now."

I could see Abel considering that as Valentina twisted part of my hair into a complicated braid. He didn't want to believe me, but I was convincing. A blast of something slightly sticky and sweet smacked me in the face. Valentina's bracelets clattered together as she set a can back down on the counter.

"There," she said. "Make-up next."

I glanced at the clock. "But-"

"Nobody leaves this room without at least three coats of mascara."

I diligently relaxed back into the leather chair. Someone's fingers were in the part of my hair she had left down, twisting and curling. A young girl was rubbing a shimmery power on my collarbones. I tried not to flinch.

"Well?" I asked.

Abel shrugged. "It's not a bad idea."

"It's brilliant."

"I wouldn't go that far," he said.

I was silent while Valentina's hands prodded and patted at my face. Tubes of creamy beiges and chalky powders spilled over the counter's edge, but she didn't seem to notice. An assistant scrambled to collect them. Abel snatched one from the floor. Then, without a second thought, he whipped it at my head.

"Hey!"

My hand shot up, and I caught it safely in my palm. The impact stung. My hand turned red, although whether from the lipstick cap coming off or the hit itself, I wasn't sure.

"What was that?" I demanded.

Abel didn't look particularly sorry. "You need to stay on your toes."

"What I need," I said, "is for you to stop treating me like a toy for your own enjoyment."

"I don't."

"You do, actually." I took a deep breath. I could no longer pretend to admire my reflection in the mirror because Valentina was blocking my view, so I concentrated instead on the window behind Abel; the Capitol buildings stood like teeth on a comb: organized, uniform, and even. "Do you have a reason for stopping in to see me?"

"Finn."

"We already went over that."

Abel shifted over until I was forced to look at him. "I want you to promise me that this really is all about strategy. You can't have any sort of romantic feelings for Finn Peltier."

"I don't."

"Not yet," he said. "But you can't let it happen in the future if you want to survive the arena, Leah."

For the second time, I was reminded of my father. He had drilled the same message into my head again and again: in the Games, you are alone. Never rely on anyone else. What would he think if he had seen Finn and I last night? My father certainly wouldn't have believed that it was about strategy. Hell, I didn't know if _I _believed it was about strategy.

"I promise," I said.

"You promise what?"

"I promise not to have any feelings for Finn, except for maybe blood lust."

I fell quiet as Valentina applied something goopy to my lashes. When I blinked, it felt like butterflies were beating at my brow bone. Someone swiped several layers of lipstick on my smoothed lips. I was beginning to feel less like me and more like a life sized doll.

"Don't worry," Abel said. "It feels worse than it looks."

"Thanks?"

He remained silent. The light behind him was fading, and the last of the sun bathed the Capitol buildings in scarlet. With the way the glass panels winked, it could have just as easily been blood on a knife. I wasn't sure how long I had been sitting here, but my muscles felt leaden and heavy.

"When-"

"Done!" Valentina finished with a smack of powder. Some of the dust wedged in my lungs, and I coughed. She gave me a slow, languid smile. "You're gorgeous, darling."

When she stepped away from the mirror, I didn't recognize myself.

The girl in the mirror had kohl-rimmed lashes that made her blue eyes look impossibly wide. Her face was all angles and shadows, but her lips were plump. A cascade of red curls tumbled down her back. The rest of it was drawn up into a crown of braids, and several turquoise jewels winked from its depths.

"I can't fight in this," I said.

Valentina pouted her red lips. "The only thing you're fighting tonight is the humidity. You'll have to carry hairspray with you."

She shooed the assistants aside with her hands, sending papers and products flying, before coming to a stop at what looked like an indent in the wall. Her hand punched a button. A white screen rolled up to reveal a slim mannequin, modeling a sea-green dress with bits of blue twined into the laced bodice and skirt. The sleeves fell off the shoulders.

"No," I said.

A sharp eyebrow went up. "Excuse me?"

"It's beautiful," I said, "but entirely impractical. I'm going to trip over the skirt and fall to my death before I even enter the arena."

Valentina tapped a heeled foot. "You'll try it on."

After much argument, I grudgingly conceded to put the gown on. Unfortunately, the task required several other people to make sure my hair stayed put and that the laces were done up properly. I made Abel turn around, to which he rolled his eyes. Still, I didn't want my mentor to see me even partially naked. Finally, the dress was on, and Valentina surveyed me smugly.

"What do you think now?"

I had to admit, the fabric fit much better than I had thought it would. The material didn't feel suffocating so much as snug, and the skirt poured around my feet in waterfalls of silk. It was lightweight, and I could walk in it.

"It'll do," I said.

Abel peeked through his fingers. "Can I look now?"

"You just did."

He didn't look particularly embarrassed. Abel's eyes scanned me from head to toe, and then he nodded, apparently content. The various assistants were gushing over Valentina's creation, and she seemed satisfied, accepting their praises like her well-deserved due. Abel tilted his head towards the door.

"Follow me."

"Where?"

"The Opening Ceremonies," he said. "It starts any minute now."

* * *

Abel wasn't kidding.

There was a team of four people wielding perfume bottles that shepherded me towards a long, black car that curved at both ends. People chatted excitedly into earpieces. The car was sleek and streamlined, and it cut through traffic like light bending through water.

"Remember," Abel said, "don't glare."

I crossed my arms. "I'm not perpetually unhappy, you know."

He raised his eyebrows, but said no more. The car halted behind a large fence, possibly twice the size of me. I could just make out the light of torches in the arena and large banners with unsmiling tributes through the slats of plywood. Abel steered me through a door, and then we were in a holding area.

"Hurry," he told me.

I followed Abel's gaze to where a blue and green chariot with a golden four was parked near the front. I broke into a run. The ground was uneven and patchy, and my ankles felt spindly in the heels, like flower stems ready to snap. There was a tug on my left foot. My arms jerked forward. I braced myself, and then I was rushing towards the ground.

"Careful!"

Strong arms wrapped harnessed around my waist. I was set upright, and I immediately pulled away. I looked up to assess my rescuer. Then, blinked. And blinked again. The boy that stood before me was ridiculously attractive: his smile was blinding, and his hair was a platinum blond. He could have appeared in Capitol commercials.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"What?"

"The heels." Model-boy pointed at my feet. "They look lethal."

His voice had a slow, viscous quality to it, like golden honey. It was the type of voice that made you sleepy just listening to it. I realized that I was staring, and I forced myself to focus on other things: the excited chatter of the crowd, the soft whinny of the horses.

"Well," I said, "I'm just preparing early."

Model-boy laughed, and stuck out a hand. "I'm Jem, by the way. District One."

At the reminder of districts, reality came crashing down, and I took a wary step back. Jem's hand hovered in the air. I remembered seeing him on television now, standing on the stage next to the girl with the sharpened nails. Both of them had volunteered. My own hands felt suddenly clammy, and my blood was singing in my veins. _This boy is different from you_, it said. _He comes from somewhere strange_.

"Jem!"

We both jumped. A boy appeared at Jem's shoulder.

"Who's she?" he asked.

"This is-" Jem broke off, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck. He offered me an apologetic look, as if it was his fault that I hadn't introduced myself. "Sorry, what did you say your name was?"

"I didn't."

Both of them waited for me to continue. When I didn't, the boy standing beside Jem laughed. His voice was deep and filled with gravel, like stones tumbling together. His eyes were hard grey steel. Leather straps crossed over his back, and in one, an ax was wedged in the holder. I wished they had given me a weapon aside from the heels, which so far, had done more damage than good.

"You've got claws, haven't you?" the boy asked.

"Ronan." Jem shot him a look. "Leave her alone."

The boy – Ronan – ignored him. "What District are you from, little Tiger?"

I hadn't missed the _little _part, and the rest of it wasn't said in a friendly way. I met his cool gaze evenly. For once, I was glad for the layers of the dress, because it gave a theatric effect when I held one up for his inspection.

"Are you color blind," I asked sweetly, "or just stupid?"

Ronan's hand went to the handle of his ax. Jem put a placating hand on his friend's arm, but his grip was too tight to be comfortable. I could feel a few of the other's tributes' eyes on us. People were murmuring into headsets. Ronan relaxed, but his eyes never left mine.

"You're dead, Tiger. As soon as we're in that arena."

"No," I said, "I'm not."

"And why's that?"

"I'm District 4." I smirked. "You'll keep me alive because I'm a Career."

I turned and started towards the blue chariot once more. I could hear the boys conversing in low voices, and I kept my gaze fixed straight ahead. The heels felt more natural, now. At least I no longer felt like I was going to fall over. Still, I put a bracing hand on the side of the chariot.

Finn was already on top of the vehicle. His blond hair had been combed, and it shone like finely spun gold. He was dressed in the canvas pants of district four, but wore nothing on top save a leather band on his upper arm. A trident was clutched firmly in his left hand, and his chest was tanned a golden brown. When he glanced down at me, I felt heat rise to my cheeks.

"Seriously, Finn? Please tell me that you don't really fish like that."

"Sorry." His brow furrowed. "Do I know you?"

I laughed. Finn continued to stare at me. There was something hungry in his gaze that I hadn't seen before, and his eyes were two shades darker than usual, almost a forest green. He seemed to be working very hard to keep his eyes on my face. I felt something like a shiver run through me, but white hot, like an iron grazing skin.

"You're not joking," I said.

He squinted at my face. "Have we-"

The opening music started, drowning out the rest of his words. Tributes began to hop up on the chariots. Somewhere to my left, I saw Jem help the blonde girl with sharp nails up onto the chariot marked with a one. Ronan stood at the helm of his own chariot, like the captain of his ship. Finn looked like he wanted to say more, but I was already moving. I jumped up on the chariot, sending my skirts flying. The silk draped around me in waterfalls of blue. Finn's gaze trailed downwards over my body before snapping up, almost determinedly, to my face. Something in his expression clicked.

"_Leah_?"

I shrugged. "Took you long enough."

"You're…" His eyebrows shot to his hairline. "I mean-"

"Wearing makeup?"

I had meant the words to come out sarcastically, but they fell short between us, almost breathy. I winced. Finn didn't seem to notice. The first few chariots were already in motion, but his eyes were still on me.

"I didn't recognize you."

"Obviously."

His gaze hardened. "I can't believe Abel let you out of the remake center looking like that. You're bait for the male sponsors."

"Well," I said, "I always liked to fish."

The chariot jerked forward, and I caught at the rail to keep from flying over the hood. We thundered into the stadium. Bright lights smacked me in the face, and the roar of the crowd was deafening. Each person's face was a tiny pinprick of color, and many wore hats proclaiming the number four on them.

"We have fans," I said.

"Good." Finn's grip was tight on the bar, but his smile looked almost genuine. He waved to the crowd, and the cheering grew louder. Several girls with crocodile scales on their arms screamed. "That's less for the other tributes."

I almost smiled. "Cold."

"Really?" Finn raised one eyebrow. "Coming from you?"

I wasn't sure what Abel wanted me to do in this situation, but I decided that Finn was playing up the crowd enough for the both of us. Besides, I didn't want to ruin his genuine smile with a fake, plastered one of my own. Surely even the people of the Capitol would see through it. We were just rounding the first corner when a movement caught my eye. The chariot with the number six on it was slightly outside of the track. The male tribute held what looked like a sword in one hand and a fistful of the horses' reins in the other. His eyes were as wild and unfocused as I recalled them being on television, and my shoulders stiffened.

"Finn," I muttered. "Look to your left."

Finn's eyes found the chariot, and he swore low under his breath. "Is that the one I said would off himself?"

"Yeah."

"He looks like he's ready to try it here."

But that wasn't quite right. The tribute had a frantic look to his eyes, but it wasn't the same one that Abel had worn during his games. This look reminded me of the time that my father had forced me to kill my first fish: it was desperate murder.

"He's going to do something stupid," I murmured.

Finn was still waving at the crowd. "The Peacekeeper's will stop him."

"Not here." I forced a smile at the crowd. "Not in front of everyone, if they can avoid it. Nobody likes a show gone sour."

The District six chariot was entirely off course now, pounding towards us at high speed. My knuckles were white on the railing. Automatically, I checked myself for weapons: heels, hair, maybe the laces from my bodice. All three were pretty weak as far as defending myself went.

"Finn-"

He glanced sideways at me just as the chariot collided with ours.

* * *

**A/N: **Please review! What do you think of Ronan? Jem? I'd love to hear feedback!


	7. Opening Ceremonies

A/N: [insert apology about the drastic amount of homework I have and my inclination towards laziness here]. Thanks to all that reviewed last chapter! Hopefully, this one will be worth the wait.

* * *

_Chapter Seven_

* * *

The male tribute gave an unearthly cry and launched himself into our chariot.

The impact of his jump rocked the carriage sideways, and I fell against the far wall for support. The wall struck my back, and the impact radiated through my spine. Finn had a tight hold on the wall beside me. The wiry tribute was circling us, and from the way he stood, I could tell that this was no publicity stunt. The knife he carried was gripped firmly in his hand.

"Shit," I said.

Finn's mouth was a thin line. "You think?"

We both pitched forward as the chariot hurtled off the tracks, speeding towards the center of the arena. I had the same sensation that I did on the boats when an early summer storm rolled in: nausea, dizziness, and a stifled panic. At this rate, the tribute might get a lucky shot in just because the horses decided to turn.

"Finn," I said, "we need to stop the horses."

He gave me an odd look. "How about we stop the crazy guy first, okay?"

"I have a better idea." I kicked off my heels, and picked them up in each hand, stems out. They were light, and sharp enough that I could probably blind the tribute. "Let's split up."

Before Finn could get another word in, I jumped to the other side of the chariot, knocking the other tribute aside as I went. The deck rocked wildly, and he fell towards Finn. Good. He was out of my way, then.

"Hey, crazy!" Finn waved his trident. "This way!"

There was the sound of metal striking metal, and the Capitol audience let out a cry. A few were on their feet. I was only half-aware of what was happening behind me. With a silent prayer, I leaped up on the bar, leaning over the front of the carriage. I examined the fraying knot that tethered the horses; it was one that we used down at the docks, and my hands began to work on it. The chariot swayed violently.

"Sterling!" Finn sounded frantic. "What are you doing? Get down from there."

I ignored him. The rope was hot beneath my fingers, and some of the polished skin had been rubbed raw. I could only imagine what Valentina would say. There was a snap, and then the knot loosened. I tugged at a string, and then the entire thing came undone. The chariot rolled to a stop, and I had only a brief moment of satisfaction before I was tugged backwards.

I hit the deck, hard. My head slammed backwards. I could taste blood in my mouth, and I gagged, trying to spit it out. My breath was coming short and fast. The male tribute from six stood above me. The lights of the arena silhouetted his body, and all I could see was the outline of his frame and the knife in his hand. For an odd moment, I was reminded of an avenging angel.

"Why me?" I asked, and I was surprised that my voice sounded so calm. "Why do you want to kill me? "

"Because," he said, "you're a monster."

There was the wink of silver, and then the blade plunged downwards. I closed my eyes. My heart knocked loudly at my ribcage, but I forced myself to be calm. I wouldn't scream. If my father was watching, he wouldn't lose another child while she screamed.

"Move!"

Automatically, my body rolled sideways as the tribute's knife lodged into the wood. There was a screech of metal, and then the district six boy was pinned to the wall of the chariot. Finn's trident was hovering inches from his throat. His hair was damp was sweat, and his breath came in pants.

"Are you alright?" he asked me.

"Fine."

I sat up, examining my legs. There were a few scattered bruises and a nasty cut up the side of my calf, but nothing that couldn't be fixed. My head, on the other hand, felt like it had been split open with a blunt ax. I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Sterling?" Finn's voice was tinged with worry. "Are you sure?"

"Just a scratch." I clenched my hands to keep them from shaking. "You?"

"Good."

Like ants emerging from a hill, a swarm of white-suited Peacekeepers leapt up and onto the chariot. The tribute from six began to howl. I watched, suspended in a state of horrified fascination, as the white mob engulfed him. His hands were shackled, and then he disappeared, lost in the crush of bodies. As one, the Peacekeepers hurried from the arena. The crowd began to cheer.

An ill sensation began in the pit of my gut. It felt as if a plank of wood was wedged beneath my stomach, and for half a second, I thought I might hurl. A few men in the front row bedecked in jewels and jester hats were on their feet. All of them were screaming our names, chanting them like some sort of reverent prayer. Finn's disgusted expression mirrored my own.

"Come on," he said, and he held out a hand. "Let's go back to the apartment."

"We don't have a horse."

"Then we'll walk." His voice was firm. "I'm not staying here any longer."

* * *

The next day, Abel and Megs were waiting at the breakfast table.

Neither mentor spoke as Finn and I filed in, helping ourselves mutely to coffee and milk. I heaped my plate with fresh bananas and oranges, and I inhaled the sweet, tangy scent. Finn had something that smelled like cinnamon and freshly baked bread. I stole one for my plate, too; it was still warm, and I greedily held the hot plate with both hands. When Finn and I were seated, Abel set his cutlery down.

"That was quite a performance last night," he observed.

I shrugged. "Glad you could make the show."

"What happened out there?" Abel's face was hard, and I realized that my quips weren't going to coax a smile out of him this morning. Although he was speaking to the both of us, his eyes were on me. "Why did that tribute attack you?"

"That's what we were wondering," Finn said. His knife was gripped very tightly in his hand. The blood had drained from Finn's knuckles, and his eyes were fixed on Abel. Mags squeezed his other hand soothingly, but Finn didn't move. "Was it a publicity stunt?"

Abel's back was stick-straight. "If it was, I didn't plan it."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't think it was." I was surprised to hear my own voice, and Finn turned towards me, startled. I stabbed a piece of fruit defensively. "What? I don't. And if their intention was to kill us, it was poorly executed. They should have picked a tribute from one of the first two districts."

"Whatever the reason," Abel said, "its won you a lot of sponsors already. Mags and I have been at meetings all night."

As soon as he said it, I could tell that it was true. There were shadows beneath his eyes, and although he never slumped, his elbows rested palm up on the table. Mags rubbed at her eyes and then adjusted her glasses. When she caught me looking, she winked.

"So, what?" I took a bite of banana. "The Capitol thinks that we're heroes now? Should we be wearing capes into the arena?"

I was only half-joking. Abel pushed his food around blearily. He dragged a piece of pineapple through his red sauce, and then forked it into his mouth. Abel didn't seem to notice that he had eaten anything at all.

"No," he said. "They think that _Finn's_ a hero."

There was something in Abel's voice that was anticipating my response, and I stared hard at my plate. The acidic juice from the orange had leaked across the plate, and the sweet-tasting cakes and bread products lay in various states of ruin. The delicious pastry that I had been looking forward to was ruined, and I pushed it viciously to the side of my plate.

"Me?" Finn's eyebrows were arched. "Why?"

"You did the fancy work with the trident." Abel shrugged. "The Capitol likes a good show, and you gave it to them."

There was an undercurrent of pity in his voice, although whom it was directed to, I couldn't have said. Suddenly, I wasn't hungry anymore, and I shoved my plate away from me altogether, sending fruit wrappings and serviettes flying. The Avox hovering in the corner stepped forward, and then the plate vanished in her grasp. Finn was watching me carefully.

"You did a great job with the horses," he said. "Honestly, Sterling, if you hadn't-"

"Save it." My eyes were still on the table. "I'm not in the mood."

An awkward silence fell, broken only by the ticking of the clock. I stared down at my hands. They were tanned and hard, with thick callouses that felt more like leather than skin. I was a sailor's daughter, through and through. But the Capitol had no use for sailor's daughters; they had use for killers. I clenched my hands, burying them in my lap. Abel cleared his throat.

"Training begins tomorrow," he reminded us. "We need to decide both of your strategies."

Finn picked at some bacon. "Don't we just stab things and look impressive?"

"You do." Abel pointed his fork at him. "You've already shown that you can fight, so your job is to make as many Career allies as possible. Leah, on the other hand, needs to keep a low profile."

My head snapped up. Abel was watching me carefully, as if waiting for me to explode. My father had always told me it was better to go for the offensive: a competitor that spread fear survived twice as long as one that showed herself to be weak. But I could see Abel's point; I was already a target after the tribute chose to attack me at the Ceremonies, and if I drew any more attention to myself, I was as good as dead in the arena.

"So I skulk near the plant stations?" I sighed.

"Of course not," Abel said. "You _sit _near the plant stations. Skulking looks shifty, and you're going to try to look as harmless as possible."

I raised an eyebrow. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Consider it a warm up for the interview."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Can't I go for sexy or something?"

Abel made a sound between a laugh and a cough. Finn's eyebrows had shot to his hairline, and only Mags seemed to seriously consider my request before shrugging and turning back to her breakfast. I could feel the boys examining me, and for a moment, it was as if I could see through their eyes: messy red hair from sleeping, pajamas, and breath that probably smelled like death warmed over.

"Perhaps we'd better stick with harmless," Abel suggested.

"Even I'm not that good of a liar," I scoffed.

"Well," Abel said, "it's probably better that we avoid _sexy_ then."

* * *

The rest of the day passed in silence. Finn spent most of the time in the far corner of the sofa, scribbling on three separate pieces of paper. At one point, I thought I saw the words _Dear Gwen _scribbled at the top of one, but Finn shifted the paper towards him again too quickly for me to be sure.

Abel and I watched the Reapings for the seventh time. I didn't think I could speak without snapping at him, especially after the comments he had made, and I concentrated instead on committing the face of each tribute to memory. I could recognize several off the top of my head, now: Jem, Ronan, and the boy from District Six. I wondered if he was locked up, or if he was dead.

"Sterling." Finn had risen from his place on the sofa. The papers were clutched in his hands, folded neatly into thirds, and he had capped the pen once more. He jerked his head towards the kitchen. "Want to try some hot chocolate with me?"

I stared at him. "Why would anyone eat melted chocolate?"

"It's a drink." He almost smiled. "Come on."

I surveyed him for a moment. Some petty, smug part of me wanted to ignore Finn and turn back to the Reapings. The other, perhaps more rational part, knew that this was probably not about hot chocolate at all and whatever he had to say was probably worth swallowing my pride. Besides, the prospect of melted chocolate as a drink was too tempting to resist. I stood, pushing pointedly past his offered hand.

"Let's go."

Finn trailed me to the kitchen. "I have a list of things I want to eat before I might die next week, and hot chocolate ranks in the top five."

"Yeah?" I began to rummage through the cupboards. "What's number one?"

"Lobster."

"You're joking." I paused to give him a long look. "We're from the fishing District and you've never tried lobster?"

"Guilty."

I paused as I found something brown and powdered. It smelled faintly sweet, and when I flipped the red can over to read the label, tiny letters spelled out the words _hot cocoa. _Words stamped on the bottom gave different methods to prepare it. Picking the easiest one, I shook some of the powder into a pot and filled it with water.

"All right." My voice echoed in the empty space. "This wasn't really about hot chocolate, was it?"

Finn looked sheepish. "Am I that easy to read?"

"I've had some practice."

The blond boy hesitated a moment. He looked uncharacteristically uncertain, and he pushed what looked like a stack of envelopes across the counter. I counted three: the letters that Finn had been writing earlier, then. "I want you to deliver these," he said.

"What?"

"If I die, I mean. If some tribute chops me to pieces or slices my head off before I can deliver them." Finn said the words as casually as if he was commenting on the potential for a paper cut. "I'd like you to give these to my family."

My throat felt tight. "Why?"

"Because you know them," he said. "Because they won't be from a stranger."

"What if neither of us makes it out?"

They weren't words that I wanted to say, and I didn't think that Finn wanted to hear them. Still, I let them hang in the air, dormant bombs between us. The hot chocolate on the stove had begun to bubble. The rich fumes were comforting, and I breathed them in, steadying myself.

"That won't happen," Finn said. "It's either you or me."

"How do you know?"

"I won't let it happen otherwise."

Finn's words caught me off guard, and I turned to the hot chocolate so he couldn't see my expression. _I won't let it happen otherwise_. It could have meant that he was going to try everything to protect me, or everything to kill me, and I had absolutely no idea which one it was.

"What do they say?" I asked. "The letters."

Finn's face was impassive. "What I should have told them a long time ago."

"They'd know it anyways. Gwen knows that you love her."

"I know." For a moment, Finn's face twisted, and he looked down at his hands. His fingers twitched. "But I want them to remember me as I am. The Games have a way of changing people, and I don't want them to think that I died a monster."

"You might." The words slipped out before I registered what I was saying, and then it was too late to reclaim them. "You might still die a monster. You wrote the letters beforehand."

"Maybe I will." His voice was bitter. "But it's better that they believe I didn't."

I wasn't sure what to say to that, and I concentrated on flicking the stove off. The hot chocolate had come to a boil, and I pulled two mugs from the cabinet. They were obviously Capitol brand: slender, white, and with the crest stamped on the front. I poured the hot chocolate into both and offered one to Finn.

"Thanks," he said.

"No." I looked down at my cup. "Thank-you."

"For what?"

"Saving me, I guess." The steam made my cheeks feel hot, and I stared at the depths of the cocoa, wishing I could drown myself in them. "You were pretty quick with that trident."

"You would have done it for me."

"I was useless," I admitted.

Finn's eyes were steady. "I wouldn't have rather had anyone else on that chariot."

We stared at one another for a moment. Dark blond hair fell into his eyes, and his lips were curved upwards in something like a smile. We were standing close, almost too close to feel natural for me, and I felt my heartbeat pick up. I could smell the sweet hot chocolate mixing with the brine of salt and sea on his skin, and it was an oddly pleasant combination. Simultaneously, we raised the mugs to our lips.

The hot chocolate was like an explosion of rich, creamy flavors in my mouth, and I licked my mouth eagerly. A rush of warmth filled me, running through my body and down to my toes. I had thought chocolate was the best thing in the world. I had been wrong.

"That," Finn said, "was the best damn thing I've ever had."

"My thoughts exactly."

"More?"

"More."

* * *

A/N: I hope you liked the touch of sweetness at the end there! Thoughts on how the first day of training is going to go? Will Leah be able to stick to the plant stations? I'd love to hear your predictions, or any thoughts that you want to share.


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